


Suite Madame Blue

by peblezQ



Series: Slipping Through Time AU [6]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alexander Hamilton Being an Asshole, Alternate History, Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Attempt at Humor, Canon Era, Canon Gay Relationship, Depressed John Laurens, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Secrets, Fatherhood, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied Sexual Content, John Laurens Lives, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secret Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peblezQ/pseuds/peblezQ
Summary: An alternate take on history in which John Laurens does not die on the 27th of August, 1782.Alexander Hamilton, a young bachelor living in New York City, invites his dear friend John Laurens to live with him after the war is won. They study law at King's College together and John mustn't allow himself to feel too comfortable since his lingering responsibility of marriage and fatherhood looms over his head akin to oncoming storm clouds.On John Laurens' 28th birthday, his vision for the future changes immensely, and he wonders whether this be divine punishment or a blessing from providence.//"Red, white, and blue, the future is all but past.So lift up your heart, make a new start,And lead us away from here..." ~ STYX
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Series: Slipping Through Time AU [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095767
Comments: 26
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((This is a spinoff of Slipping Into The Future. Reading that book is not a necessary pre-requisite to understand the contents of this novel.))_
> 
> **Content Warning:**  
>  The following book contains themes of violence/blood, implied sexual intamacy, period-typical homophobia and rascism, coarse language, trauma + PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression. 
> 
> I have used my local rating system to decide the rating of this book; however, if any of the themes above are bothersome to you, please leave now or tread lightly. Every chapter with sensitive content will have a warning. 
> 
> **Disclaimer!**  
>  This book is a work of fiction. Even though I, the author, take historical acuracy very seriously, this story will not be historically accurate as it is a reworking of history in which John Laurens lives beyond the Revolutionary War. It is highly encouraged to look into the history yourself if you are interested in it. This book is for entertainment purposes only - it is not a text book. 
> 
> Look, if they were allowed to make a movie about Abe Lincoln being a vampire slayer, then I can write a book about historical queer men. 
> 
> Even if there are points that may be historically accurate either because I chose to make it so wherever I feel necessary, please still assume this entire book is just fiction. If you are interested in the relationship of Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens, I highly recomend starting with reading their correspondence letters on the Library of Congress website as there is a lot of actual historical proof of their relationship not being platonic - but rather, romantic in nature. 
> 
> This book is my personal take on an alternative version of history. I am not a historical expert - I am a writer who just really likes history. 
> 
> Thank you, and enjoy!

_[To John Laurens From Alexander Hamilton]_

> _Quit your sword my friend, put on the toga, come to Congress. We know each others sentiments, our views are the same: we have fought side by side to make America free, let us hand in hand struggle to make her happy._
> 
> _[...]_
> 
> _Yrs for ever_

_A.Hamilton_

_[Albany, August 15, 1782]_

* * *

_New York Harbour_

_Tuesday, September 23, 1782_

The foamy green waters lick the sea walls of New York Harbour as the bell upon the ship chimes to inform passengers that the boat be fully docked. John Laurens, with his luggage awkwardly piled underneath his arms and gripped within his hands, teeters slanted down the ridged ramp onto the port docks. His coat be dusted by the salty waters of the ocean and his queue has fallen brazenly askew in the wind as he follows the line of passengers into the dusty roads of New York City.

Even as the sun shines brightly, America be free, and the warmth is beyond less daunting than the sweltering heat of South Carolina, John still finds his mind’s eyes swirling with lingering regrets and melancholy. He still hears the echoes within his mind’s damp and cold caverns, barking mockingly at his plan; tarnishing his dream.

With the approval of the Philadelphia and South Carolinian congress at his side, he had still been held back by his friends and neighbours, ridiculing him for such an absurd plan. His dream battalion stays but a dream which now be tainted with gritty realistic pessimism as he sways unevenly, finally landing upon the earth and away from the suffocating ship. Laurens feels a sweltering of nausea grip at his insides, but he swallows hastily to keep his pride and propriety in check.

John blinks dizzily as sweat trickles into his eyes and he nearly drops a few suitcases and grunts whence the satchel hanging over his right shoulder irritates the sore muscles from multiple inflicted wounds from the war. Once he be out of the path for the people bustling through the ports, he places a few bags down hastily to catch his breath and fix upon his tangled mane. John had lost his hat on his travels, it having been picked up by the wind and blown directly into the sea to his misfortune. A small boy laughed with deep girth at his increment and he could not help but smile along.

His pale blue coat rides up slightly as he reaches up to assemble his queue in an orderly manner and he pauses in his ministrations when he makes direct eye contact with those intensely desirable violet eyes that he had only been able to dream about for the past year since The Battle Of Yorktown. John cannot help the grin enrapturing his features as the man practically gallops towards him, hastily gripping his hat as it nearly catches in the wind.

John barely has time to open his arms for an embrace as he is nearly tackled to the dusty road, laughing brightly and forgetting his aching bones and wobbled centre of gravity as the love of his life holds him close to his rapidly beating heart. John folds his arms around the smaller man and squeezes him in return, blinking away oncoming tears threatening to attack his eyes.

“Alexander…” John whispers as he reluctantly pulls away; reminded of their environment when a horse sneezes nearby and garbled noises come flooding from the New York crowds passing by them.

“Oh John, how I missed you, so!” Alexander says breathlessly, nervously straightening his bark-coloured coat. He gives him a once-over and John feels all of the heat centralize within his cheeks dusted with light freckles. “Where is your hat?”

“I imagine a wicked sea creature owns it now,” John quips with a sheepish grin.

Alexander bursts into boisterous laughter, the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes more prominent and his auburn curls bouncing as he pulls back to breathe between his giggles. “Ah, of course. I know just the man who we may commission to make you a new one.”

“Oh?” John folds his arms over his chest with a quirked brow.

“An old friend, Hercules Mulligan,” Hamilton pauses for effect, “yes that be his true name.”

John nods. “I believe I have heard of him. I’ve met him not, however.” John blinks, shaking his head as the new thought crosses his mind. “How did you become aware of my arrival on this date? I was not expecting to see you until tomorrow.”

Hamilton’s beautifully freckled cheeks tint a rosy colour as he side-glances around them nervously. “I, ahh — I may have come here to see you off the ship for the past few days, now. Only three days have gone by now that I have, uh, rather happened to walk by the harbour — to see if any ships from South Carolina have arrived?” He phrases this as if it be a question and John finds himself smiling with amusement.

“Aye, it was a happenstance, of course.”

“Of course,” Hamilton repeats slowly, adding a wink. There is a moment where they just soak each other in, unspeaking, unmoving, and smiling like two fools. “Well, sir. I would rather you not burn your head in this sun without a hat. Perhaps we may retire at whichever boarding house you had wished to stay in? You know, since I am not _technically_ scheduled to meet with you until tomorrow?”

John sighs with relief and offers a bag. “Help me carry my luggage? I am far too exhausted from my trip and wish to let the depth of unconsciousness consume me.”

Alexander readily accepts the bag before leaning over to pick up another. “Shall we, then?”

“Aye,” John replies with a toothy grin.

* * *

The man with silver-streaked copper hair, a constellation of freckles dancing upon ivory skin, and a stolen uniform has a face littered with laugh lines and shadows from lack of sleep — and a rough voice that be dry from many years of constant use. Even though John is acutely aware of such details, the man’s face be entirely out of focus even as he stands near enough that his warm breath tickles John’s porcelain skin. “All I ask of you is that you live. Living will leave the impact you so desire.”

Laurens stumbles into his footing as he reaches out, cupping the man’s jaw, drawn to him like gravity. The action is so abrupt that John barely catches his intentions with the motion. So quick, so desperate and needy. He nearly falls forward as the man pulls away before he may reach his lips. Laurens stares at him, his face reddened with embarrassment.

“I have a wife, John,” the blurry vision grumbles. “A wife and five beautiful children who await my return. Go kiss your own damn” —the words are obscured, laced with a hazy fog as John furrows his brows— “before you may lose him to your foolishness.” The voice of the vision with copper hair streaked with silver be harsh and bitter, but it seems to hit its mark as John’s eyes grow and his mouth drops in shock.

“I do not know what compelled me to—” Laurens cuts himself off, looking sharply at the others. They all keep their faces as neutral as possible — they have no faces, so bland and undefined. They are silent and emotionless, almost a background nuisance to John and this unrecognizable man that he so desperately wanted to kiss.

“Goodbye, John,” the vision says with a sharp tone of finality. He softens and holds John’s face with great care; akin to a dear long-lost friend or family member with a longing fondness. _“My_ Laurens may be gone, but you are not. Your future is unwritten, so make it count, my dear,” he whispers before backing away from John entirely.

One of the people behind this visionary man whispers something John still cannot understand, even though he knows he has seen this vision multiple times before.

The vision nods firmly to the others as he walks away from the fire that obscures their surroundings. John absently recalls a barn being nearby, a field, and a charred tree but nothing else. The details have long been forgotten by now. One of the people mumbles as they clumsily follow the silvery-fire-haired man.

The man stands in front of the charred tree and stares at it, so calm and tranquil. A blue glow bursts in front of the tree, building a blurry image that John cannot conjure any longer. The vision’s veins glow in his hands as the window grows crystal clear, the front of the house visible on a stormy day, the freezing rain flying through and hitting them as he opens it further.

They all link hands before the man turns around, the winds from the other side of the glowing passageway blow his flyaway hairs across his face. His queue waves over his shoulder and he offers the befuddled John Laurens a watery grin. Laurens shivers as the fire completely wipes away with the cold wind, he crosses his arms and stares into the man’s eyes with a heaviness that urges his desires to remain here.

"Goodbye," the man yells over the wind.

"Farewell," Laurens replies in turn, shivering violently afterwards.

And as the man leaps into the window, a shockwave sends John flying backwards. As he lands on the hard earth he awakes with a painful jolt, panting heavily.

John gasps for breath as he fumbles for flint in the bedside drawer. He lights up the oil lantern and sighs with relief when he sees his surroundings. _T’was only but a nightmare._

He breathes deeply, sliding his legs off the side of the bed and buries his face in his hands. He had not dreamt of this particular nightmare in three months. The dream occurs less frequently now but when it returns, it shakes him to his very core. He cannot recall who the people were, why they were there any longer — if it were ever real or just a terrible dream from the horrors of war — but regardless, it frightens him to the bone.

He shivers when a hand strokes his back and he melts into the touch, sighing as the warm body behind engulfs him in a protective embrace. He smiles fondly as soft and warm lips press against the juncture of his neck and shoulder; he tilts his head to give more access to the assailant.

“John,” he whispers slowly into John’s skin and Laurens melts onto the chest of his lover securely holding him from behind.

“Alexander,” John replies in a low voice, turning his head to face his lover. “My sincerest apologies if I had awoken you, my dear boy.”

“Mmm, I mind not, my darling,” Alexander sighs into John’s cheek, his lips quirking into a grin against John’s sweat-coated skin. “Are you alright?”

“Aye. Just a nightmare.” John turns properly to capture Alexander’s lips. He moans into it and clings onto John’s shirt with growing intensity. John reluctantly pulls away and rests his forehead upon Alexander’s. They say nothing for some time, only holding each other and breathing languidly. Alexander is his anchor to reality. The nightmares mean nothing when _he_ be there to hold John.

“I suppose now is a decent enough time to rise for the day, hmm?” Alexander smiles brightly, leaning back to look John up and down. “We have a big day today.”

John smiles and cups Alexander’s cheek, stroking his thumb across the expanse of freckles splayed out like the constellations in the night’s sky. “Aye. We _could_ dress ourselves for the day.”

John leaves the statement to hang in the air and Alexander smirks deviously, lightly tugging John back to lay upon his chest on the bed. “Dawn has not creased the skies yet, my dear Laurens. We could perhaps make better use of our time, instead?” Alexander teases lightly.

John traces patterns into Alexander’s chest and smiles fondly, nuzzling his head into his nightshirt. “What do you have in mind?”

Alexander chuckles and the vibration of it against John’s ear be soothing, nearly lulling him to sleep again. He feels content as Alexander laces his fingers through John’s honey-gold hair. “Mmm, I could lie here and hold you close to my heart for the rest of my life and be perfectly content, my sweet Jack.”

"My heart is yours, Alexander." John smiles. "Always."

Laurens raises his hand to clutch Alexander’s shirt — his nightmare long-forgotten albeit for one lingering sentence dripping in the recess of his mind like a droplet upon a blooming flower:

_“All I ask of you is that you live. Living will leave the impact you so desire.”_

* * *

John drops the coins upon the desk of the Innkeeper, smiling cordially and shaking the man’s hand before grabbing his satchel and meeting Hamilton outside. He smiles at the sight of him and he eagerly begins walking in the opposite direction; John struggles to keep up. He shifts the satchel to his left arm as his right shoulder already be sore from the excursion.

“Oh, you will _adore_ the place I have obtained, John! It is barely outside of the city so you should not feel too terribly crowded,” Alexander boasts as John flags down the driver of an empty carriage parked on the side of the road. Luck surely has been paying him well, recently. The war was won, Hamilton was able to meet with him when he had arrived in New York Harbour the previous evening, and now a conveniently empty coach be awaiting their travels. A lingering thought inside of him twists uncomfortably at his insides, chilling his blood and churning his stomach; a dark melancholic voice hissing; _'too good to be true... You know this only be temporary, you fool,_ ' within the crevices of his mind like an incessant South Carolinian mosquito.

“Sounds wonderful,” John comments rather late with a forced grin before turning to the driver of the coach. Hamilton furrows his brows but says nothing on Laurens' behaviour. “Sir, be this coach occupied by another travelling party?”

“Nay. Do you require a ride?” The man replies with a thick Irish accent.

John feels another flush of coldness swirl through his stomach. He thinks of Fitzgerald and McHenry briefly but promptly ignores the internal chill. “Aye, if you do not mind.”

Hamilton offers the address of his home and they be off, watching the city streets melt sluggishly into the countryside as lesser buildings paint the environment beyond the tiny carriage windows.

Laurens catches Hamilton's gaze multiple times and wonders if he is purposely trying to steal John's attention span. His mind wanders to Alexander far too often, and having him be so near after a year apart is _intoxicating._ His fingers twitch for Alexander's skin; as if he be pulling John towards him like a tidal wave in the ocean.

The ride be not tediously endless; Laurens had slipped his pocket watch out after they had departed and holds it now as they arrive to find they only travelled for the better half of an hour. He also finds it was not detrimental to sit in such _close proximity_ with his heart's knees bumping against his own from the opposing side of the carriage.

_The only thing that has deterred him from enjoying the trip was having Alexander so close, yet not being able to do anything about it without causing suspicion from the driver of the coach._

The carriage abruptly yerks into a sharp halt, rudely interrupting his stream of thoughts and causing John to fumble forward and grip Hamilton's knee to resist gravity from tossing him onto the smaller man entirely. The pocket watch had landed on the floor of the carriage during their abrasive halt and Hamilton bends over to grab it, delicately returning it into John's vacant left hand. Their faces are mere centimetres apart and the tantalizing lips of the fiery man afore him quirk upward slily. Hamilton gives a few quick pats upon John's hand before retreating from the carrier.

John swallows deeply as he slips the pocket watch into his coat and pulls himself out with a low grunt, his muscles and bones be permanently sore from many years at war, but the stiff carriage ride was not of any aid to his aching bones by any means.

The brick building in front of him is humble and modest. It appears to be two homes conjoined in one building and the four other buildings on this dead-end street seem to not acquire the same architectural layout. John wagers that it must be a uniquely fresh design — _one he surely has never seen before_ — perhaps to save money and space.

He turns and procures his purse, pulling out a few extra coins for the carrier rider. The man grunts in appreciation and grips the money in his clammy hands before shoving them haphazardly into his waistcoat pocket. "Godspeed, sirs."

Hamilton pulls the last of John's luggage from the boot before giving a few hearty pats upon the dark steed. "You as well. Thank you for your troubles."

The man tips his hat and flicks the reins, steering the horse around into a casual trot down the way he came.

John picks up two bags as Alexander carries the others. "Allow me to show you the house!"

John’s expression melts into one filled with pure fondness as he follows Alexander towards the house. An older woman outside of the adjoined home tends to the flora sitting upon the windowsill and she turns at the sound of the men climbing their shared porch.

“Hello, Mr. Hamilton,” the woman says kindly, the wrinkles on her face become more prominent as she grins sweetly at the man. As they approach nearer, John notices the faded burn scar riding up her left neck and partially onto her face and over her somewhat deformed ear; he smiles politely like a true gentleman and allows no cruel thoughts to invade his mind as a lesser man would be so inclined to do.

“Good day, Mrs. Rosmund. This is my friend, John Laurens. John, this is Mrs. Rosmund,” Alexander introduces as he pulls his keys from his pockets.

“Is Mr. Laurens visiting for long?” Mrs. Rosmund asks with a quirked brow, her earthy-green eyes flickering towards the luggage.

“I will be living with Mr. Hamilton whilst we complete our law studies in New York,” John replies. “T’is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

She smirks deviously. “Now, Mr. Hamilton. You never told me a handsome southern gentleman was moving in. If I had’a known, I would’ve dolled myself up.”

“Nonsense — you’re already a doll, Mrs. Rosmund,” Hamilton replies with a flirtatious wink; he finally tugs the door open.

She chuckles lightly and John cannot help the grin taking over his features. “Oh, you are a shameless flirt, Mr. Hamilton. Go woo a woman your own age.”

Hamilton fondly rolls his eyes before retreating into the depths of the home. John nods respectfully towards his new neighbour. “Take care, ma’am.”

“You as well, Mr. Laurens,” the kind old woman replies sweetly before returning to her task.

John steps inside the home and closes the door behind himself. "Mrs. Rosmund owns the home and lives in the other half. I believe it used to be one house but then she had it split in half," Hamilton elucidates with a shrug. "She is a kind landlady and I fear she is greatly under-charging for this place." John puts his luggage beside the other bags Alexander put down.

"Well, come in. Allow me to show you the home!" John follows the man in question as he eagerly beckons him over.

“Here we have the parlour,” Hamilton begins with a bright smile.

“Right next door be the dining room, quaint but functional," Hamilton says as they enter the room from a door in the parlour.

They enter the corridor again and Hamilton smiles brightly. "Our study,” he continues, opening the door to show the room with bookshelves installed into the two far walls and a window at the back — two desks are pushed together so the occupants may face each other whilst working.

“ _Our_ study?” John inquires with a playful grin.

“Aye. There be only one study...and we work well together, anyhow,” Hamilton replies with a cheeky wink.

John follows him further down the hallway; behind the staircase. “This be the cleaning room. I wash the laundry and take baths in here,” Hamilton says, leaning against the doorframe. "There be a rather convenient water pump right outside the back door that leads to the well in the garden."

"Wait but a moment," John backtracks. "You clean everything yourself?" he asks incredulously.

Alexander furrows his brows. "Must I remind you that I am not the son of a plantation owner, John? I cannot afford to hire a maid."

Laurens shakes his head, embarrassed. "Right. My apologies."

Hamilton raises a curious brow. "Will this be a nuisance to make your _own_ food and clean your _own_ mess? Or are you far too pampered for such tasks?" Alexander sounds quite teasing, rather than truly mocking — but John feels flushed, still.

Laurens shakes his head and offers a sheepish expression, his embarrassment swelling within his chest. "It not be an issue at all. Besides, this arrangement only be" — _temporary._ He swallows, unable to finish his sentence. He clears his throat. "Well, you _know…_ "

Hamilton hums and points over his shoulder at the door directly beside the cleaning room. “This is the kitchen." John smiles, silently thanking providence for the change of subject matter.

"T’is somewhat detached, so be careful with the step in the morning. I’ve tripped on this step far too many times. There is a door to the back garden from both of these rooms. There be a dirt path leading to the outhouse that I am sure will not supply us well when it rains.” John's lips quirk amusedly at the thought of Alexander slipping on his way to do his business after a rainy day. He hides his amusement with a curt nod in understanding.

Alexander hurries down the hall they came and grabs half of the luggage. “I wager we will be going upstairs, now?” John asks conversationally as he follows close behind, grabbing his remaining luggage before they begin their trek up the narrow staircase.

John watches their feet upon the creaky stairs and lifts his head at the most inopportune time; his forehead smacks against the low hanging wooden beam above the stairwell and he hisses in pain, rubbing the spot tenderly before ducking to continue his ascent.

“I am aware that this house is rather... _paltry_ — but it was all I could afford after resigning from my commission,” Hamilton mumbles self-consciously as they approach the top floor — which appears to be a narrow corridor adjacent to the one below with three doors.

“Alex, it’s perfect,” John replies with a sheepish grin.

Hamilton's brows furrow in question. "You will have to be conscious of your head ascending and descending the stairs."

"Aye. It be akin to mine experiences in the garret at Valley Forge, if you recall," John replies, his eyes scrunching as he grins fondly at the memories of early mornings whence he would smack his head against the ceiling. It had only been a few years ago but they were quite young, then; rather naïve.

Alexander snorts and shakes his head with a crooked grin. "Oui, mon imbécile chéri. I would very much wish for you to keep your head intact, John."

John chuckles and feels himself flush at the sight of Alexander's eyes twinkling brightly. Laurens coughs indiscreetly and enthusiastically explores through two of the bedroom doors, promptly averting the subject matter. “So, which room be mine?”

Hamilton flushes and pushes the door behind him open. “Why, the biggest room of the house, of course…”

John follows him into the master bed-chamber and pauses when Hamilton shyly places half of his luggage in front of the second wardrobe in the room. “Why must you make me walk to the opposite side of the room to put my clothes away?” John inquires in a low, gravelly tone.

“Because I already claimed the other wardrobe,” Hamilton replies with a playful grin.

John gazes at the large bed and then looks down at Hamilton as he places his luggage upon the hardwood floor. “And this be my bed?”

“ _Our_ bed,” Hamilton whispers, his breath tickling John’s lips. “We finally have a place of our own…”

“Aye,” John mumbles with a dopey grin. His smile falters as the fleeting reminder of _‘temporary’_ flickers through his mind. Alexander catches his change in mood and John delicately cups his face with both hands, leaning down to place a chaste kiss upon his chapped lips. Hamilton responds eagerly, wrapping his arms around John’s back and clawing his hands up between his shoulder blades.

John reluctantly retreats for air and Alexander follows his lips with a low whine. John chuckles warmly and holds his lover at an arm's length. “This home is perfect, my dear boy. Thank you for inviting me to stay with you.”

Hamilton huffs rather indignantly, sliding his arms around Laurens’ waist to rest his hands upon his hip bones. “You speak as if I had considered sharing this home with anyone other than you, my dear Laurens.”

John flushes and ducks away from Hamilton shyly, lifting his suitcase onto the bed to begin unpacking his belongings. He tucks stray hairs falling from its queue behind his ear before piling his clothes into the wardrobe. “The rest of my belongings should be here within the next few days, they said.” John pointedly avoids gazing in Alexander’s direction. “Not everything, of course — but I will have everything I would ever need to be here.”

“John—”

“I do greatly look forward to studying at King's College with you. Mind you, Middle Temple was located in London and I had only chosen that school to stay away from my father if I be honest — and what now with the war being won, I could not _possibly_ resume my law studies outside of—”

“John!” Alexander grabs John’s face and halts him in his nervous ministrations. He had been hastily putting things away, barely taking a breath between his words — he be rambling like a nervous schoolboy. Laurens simply cannot believe that he is _here_ with Alexander. Many years ago, the idea of this was simply but a dream to him — not something to be considered as a reality for men _like them_. “My dear, are you alright?”

He purses his lips and gingerly pulls Hamilton’s hands away to thread their fingers together at their chests. “My sincerest apologies. I only ramble with pure adrenaline at the prospect that we truly be _here_...doing _this_ …”

Alexander’s smile is like the moon; bright and irresistible to look away from. “Aye, sir.” John swallows. “I am utterly delighted to have you in mine company” —Alexander exhales a breath and leans up to ghost his lips to the shell of John’s ear, causing him to tremble— “all _alone._ All _mine._ ”

John feels heat swell within his groin, unable to suppress the croaked whimper from his slightly parted lips. Hamilton hums with approval and lifts a tantalizing brow before grabbing John’s cravat and tugging him into a deep, passionate kiss.

John blindly reaches out behind him to swipe the suitcase off of the mattress before tugging Hamilton upon his lap as they fall to the bed. They bounce with the landing and Alexander begins exploring John’s neck with his lips and teeth.

John sighs deeply as Alexander unties his cravat hastily and tosses it carelessly over his shoulder before leaping in to suck the nape of John’s neck. Laurens tilts his head and Hamilton hums in satisfaction as he gains more access to kiss, lick, and nip as he pleases.

"I missed you so much," Hamilton whines into John's shoulder, his arms securely wrapping around his back as if he is about to float off into the ether.

"Aye," Laurens replies breathily, turning his head to place a gentle kiss upon Hamilton's cheek. "Being apart from you constantly throughout the war was an irritating hindrance."

Hamilton smiles wickedly and pulls back to look into Laurens' eyes properly. "I do not know if I will be able to keep my hands off of you during your stay."

"I would hope not," John growls, sensually sliding his hands to grip Alexander's thighs with vigour. "Pray tell, what would you desire for us to do when our studies be not in session."

Hamilton's grin widens and he pushes Laurens onto his back; he cradles his elbows on either side of John's head and locks his legs around his sides to cage him upon the mattress. "Perhaps I may be inclined, rather, to _show_ you?"

"Proceed," John replies heavily, swallowing deeply before his lips be fiercely captured by Alexander's.

John feels all of his reserves float away while every crevice of his body is ignited by Alexander's fiery passion. As Alexander kisses _the_ spot just below his ear, he unabashedly moans before catching himself with a sheepish expression. He smacks his hand over his mouth and Hamilton chuckles heartily, utterly amused.

"Why must you cover your mouth, John? We aren't two soldiers hiding in the night any longer, my dear," Hamilton inquires with a playful quirk of the brow.

"But our neighbour!" John hisses in retaliation. "The walls be adjoined — surely she could hear—" John halts when Alexander's finger presses lightly onto his lips, hushing him with a low giggle.

"Mrs. Rosmund cannot hear us. Her home has a different layout so her bed chambers are nowhere near ours." He punctuates his sentence with a peck on the cheek. "And the wall between the two homes be far thicker than the walls within the singular home," Alexander replies, pecking John's opposite cheek. "Also, she is elderly and partially deaf. We will not alert her, I am sure."

Laurens huffs indignantly but relents when Hamilton places a chaste kiss onto his lips. "You worry far too much, my dear."

John tilts his head away when Hamilton dips downward for another kiss; he sits up, leaning on his elbows, and nearly knocking Alexander off of his lap with the sudden actions. "Hamilton, I am _serious_ upon this matter. If we were to be caught whilst we were engaging in such a sinful affair—"

"Sinful?" Hamilton slides off of John's lap and runs his fingers through his unruly hair that has escaped the hastily tied ribbon during their _illicit endeavours._ "John, I had thought you did not think we are—"

"I don't," Laurens intercepts swiftly, leaning closer to Hamilton, placing his hand underneath his chin. John maneuvers his face towards his own and searches his deep, violet eyes. "Darlin', you know where my sentiments lie. I believe our love to be pure — I only remind you of the world _outside_ these walls. We cannot give anyone a moment of suspicion so that I may protect your life and your legacy, my dear boy."

Hamilton sighs defeatedly, his shoulders slumping with resignation. "I'm sorry. I know you only" —he purses his lips and closes his eyes, ducking his head away from John's calloused fingers— "I only wish for you to feel safe in being yourself when we are here, Jack. We do not need to hide here.”

Laurens quirks the corner of his lips and runs his fingers through Alexander’s hair, carefully taking the loose ribbon out with his fingers and placing it upon the bedside table. He holds the nape of Hamilton’s neck and pulls him forward into a hungry kiss, sucking and lapping his tongue upon the supple pink flesh as if his life depends on it. Hamilton moans softly and falls backwards, his copper hair haloing his freckled-ivory skin beautifully.

Now it be Laurens who cages Hamilton beneath him and he smirks at his dear boy as he squirms wantonly underneath his weight. “John,” he breathes like a prayer upon his parted lips, his eyes closing and his head digging over into the pillow. “Please…”

Laurens lowers to barely tap his lips against the lobe of Hamilton’s ear. “For you, my darlin’, I would do anything for.”

Alexander sighs in a high-pitched tone and smiles blissfully; Laurens takes this as his opening to consume Alexander, their bodies moving in tandem, and their noises be only _somewhat_ repressed out of respect for John’s fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, welcome to my Laurens Lives AU (aka my Laurens spinoff.) I figured since I have this au sandbox, I can explore it and do whatever I want. Alexander is not married, I made up some characters, Laurens didn't die in a skirmish, and I invented duplexes 100 years earlier - all for the sake of the plot. Why? _Cause why not._
> 
> This book is 100% self-indulgent. 
> 
> [Fact from Fiction]  
> As I mentioned in my opening disclaimer, this book is *historical fiction* and so I beg of you guys to look into the real history and not take mine as fact (I mean, I would hope not. This is an AU where I am purposely fucking with history xD) 
> 
> This book will be uploaded every other Friday! I was smart and pre-wrote some chapters but I will need all the time to refine every chapter and keep up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said bi-weekly updates? I lied. If I ever promise an update schedule again, just ignore me. I am too chaotic to follow any schedule. Anyone who followed the 5-month-long posting of my last book knows that even though my posting schedule is non-existent, you can always trust that I will finish the book.
> 
> Aight, chapter 2, here we gooooo

Laurens cannot deny his feelings; he _adores_ living with Hamilton. They have a routine they have followed for a month, now; very akin to the one they followed in the war.

They wake before dawn and lie together until the sun peeks through the window. They dress themselves, occasionally helping the other with a button, hair, or a shave since they do not have a mirror in their bed chambers as of yet. John purposely does not buy one so he may shave Alexander, and so Alexander may shave him — he clings onto these intimacies and wonders if Hamilton feels the same since he also has not purchased a mirror.

They retreat down the steps, Laurens having to duck his head to not smack it against the wood panelling hanging low above the staircase for his stature. They eat breakfast and leave to go off to King’s College for a few hours for their law studies, always being sure to say good morning to Mrs. Rosmund who typically is tending to her flora or mending clothes in the rocking chair upon the porch at this time.

They typically pay attention in school, but Laurens still taps Hamilton’s foot under the table as if they be aides-de-camp yet again. They usually eat in the town, buying food from a local vendor and chatting up enthusiastically before their next class. Once they return home in the late afternoon, they greet Mrs. Rosmund before locking themselves into their home and making _special use_ of their space and privacy; having been frustrated all day from being unable to touch the other outside of their home.

John rather enjoys the ritualistic patterns of each day and hums with satisfaction as he helps Hamilton cut up vegetables for their suppertime stew. Their home truly be their safe-haven and John offers a lopsided grin when Alexander playfully bumps their hips together, chopping side-by-side within their humble kitchen.

Their life be quite _domestic_ — Laurens pauses his motions as this thought strikes him like a cannonball. He feels humbly at peace and desires to do this every single day until they turn old and grey. He has never thought so far in his life before, but with Alexander, all he can think about is the future. All he can see is a tired man with silver-streaked copper hair smiling sweetly at him, telling him he loves him, and that he would run away with him if it came to be.

The gentle eyes of a kind young woman and a faceless daughter an ocean away flicker into the forefront of his mind, reminding him that he shan't feel too comfortable here with Alexander. _T'is only temporary._

John nearly drops the kitchen knife whence a light knocking comes from their front door. He and Hamilton wipe their hands with the cloth and retreat down the narrow corridor, chuckling like young boys as they struggle to fit in the hallway beside each other.

Hamilton opens the door and Laurens leans his arm against the frame, both looking down at their neighbour. She smiles upon seeing their faces, and Laurens cannot help but return the grin.

“Hello, boys. I hope I am not interrupting anything?” Mrs. Rosmund says cheerfully.

Hamilton shakes his head. “No, not at all. We were only preparing supper when you had knocked.”

“We’re making stew,” John adds with a child-like smile. “An old family recipe from my mother.”

“Ah, so this be a perfect time,” Mrs. Rosmund replies as she removes the cloth from the object within her frail hands. “I had tried a new recipe and so I made two just to be certain I had gotten it correct and...well, they’re both perfect, however, I do not require so much food for myself. I was wondering if you two would like to have this second loaf?”

John and Alexander exchange a curious glance before returning their gazes to their kindly neighbour, smiles warming into a fuzzy fondness for the older woman. “Aye, if you insist,” Hamilton says whilst accepting the perfectly baked loaf. It appears to be baked with herbs from Mrs. Rosmund’s garden.

“What do we owe you for the loaf?” John queries with a lifted brow.

She also lifts a curious brow and shakes her head in befuddlement. “Oh, no, sir — no payment required. All I ask is that you eat it. If you do not like it, however, you are more than welcome to throw it away,” she says timidly. “This be a gift, Mr. Laurens, from one neighbour to another. I do not expect any repayment.”

John blinks owlishly, pressing and releasing his lips like a fish out of water. Alexander, thank the stars, speaks for him. “Thank you, m’dear. This was a very kind offering. We will gladly enjoy it this evening with our stew.” He opens the door further and gestures with the loaf of bread towards their narrow entranceway. “Would you care to join us for supper? The Eleanor Laurens stew is absolutely delectable and I urge you to at least taste it.”

Mrs. Rosmund smiles and looks to Laurens as if silently asking for his permission to enter. He nods enthusiastically and shuffles backwards to give more space for her to enter. “Why, thank you. You really do not have—”

“This is a gift, Mrs. Rosmund, from one neighbour to another,” John echoes with a cheeky grin; she chuckles, wagging a finger at him before lifting her skirts to step inside their home.

Hamilton takes the loaf into the kitchen whilst John holds out an arm for Mrs. Rosmund to hold. “I can walk on my own, Mr. Laurens,” she mutters before grabbing his arm and allowing him to walk with her.

“Oh, certainly, ma’am — t’is only my upbringing. A habit I am unable to break,” he replies with graceful mirth. He releases her after they step down into the kitchen and she wanders to the large black pot hanging over the fire.

Alexander stirs their recently cut ingredients into the stew before offering the spoon for her to taste. She smacks her lips together after sipping the thick broth, making a grand performance out of it, and smiles brightly at them. “This is delicious. I did not take you two as cooks.”

“I am no cook, ma’am,” John replies sheepishly. “I had only relayed the recipe to Alexander and he did most of the work.”

“Oh, hush. You are getting better at cutting vegetables,” Hamilton replies swiftly, flicking the cloth at John before retreating towards the stew to continue stirring. “Will you stay with us for supper, Mrs. Rosmund? I am certain your bread will go wonderfully with it.”

“Aye, of course, Mr. Hamilton.” She sits gingerly at the small kitchen table, making herself at home. “It would be my greatest pleasure.”

John looks out the window at the willow tree in their back garden, right beside the fence that separates their garden from Mrs. Rosmund’s. The leaves fly from the tree with the breeze and John averts his gaze, returning his attention to the stew.

* * *

The hazy sun shines and the day be fresh and oversaturated with a magenta fog. John is with his brothers Harry and Jemmy, and he had been in constant contact with Francis. _What could possibly go wrong?_

John smiles at Jemmy waving to him from the tree. He waves back and chuckles before returning to the correspondence he had received early morn from Francis. His heart skips a beat in his chest as he opens the letter and soaks up the words like a fine wine. As his eyes dance along with the beautiful writings, he takes pause as the letter changes course, causing his blood to boil.

His chest heaves and he frowns. With handwriting so marvellous, the words are unmatched and Laurens wishes to burn this parchment as it stands. _How could he believe something so abhorrently wrong?_ _What monstrous beliefs are being spilled into his mind’s eye?_ All he can see is mind-controlling upon the page and John simply cannot believe that Francis, _his_ Francis, would say such—

**SNAP!**

_CRACK!_

John’s head whips up at the sound of blood-curdling screams and tosses the letter carelessly whence he sees Jemmy lying upon the grassy floor beneath the large tree. He runs but feels his feet sticking to the grass as if it be a swampy marsh, holding him back from reaching Jemmy sooner.

He finally approaches Jemmy and collapses beside him, his tears stinging his cheeks. His face be obscured with so much crimson liquid, pouring onto the green grass and staining it until the small boy lay within a pool of his own blood, staring up at John with glassy eyes.

“Jah-k—”

“Shh, Jemmy, shh. Don’t speak,” he coos between harsh sobs. The small boy whines when he attempts to move and John cradles his small head, holding him perfectly still. “I am here, Jemmy. I am right here. I promise I will not go.” He looks up at Harry, his eyes be crazed and red-rimmed. “Go find help. Now!”

Harry nods as if finally being unfrozen like the winter has surpassed his form and he hurries down the hill, past the letter, beyond the foggy frame of John’s vision. He rambles about nothing and everything, keeping his brother distracted. He sings and cries and talks about their mother, telling him to stay strong for her — to stay strong for _him._

“John,” Jemmy says in a startlingly deep voice, very unlike his own childish whimpers from before. As if he be a grown man with a firm grip upon John, anchoring him to the ground, sinking— _sinking_ — ** _sinking_** — further into the blood-soaked earth, surrounded by bones and warm iron liquid, thick and coarse.

“John, wake up,” the voice echoes from a distance as John spirals into darkness, still holding the face of the corpse below him.

“No, no, don’t go,” John cries desperately, lightly tapping his brother's porcelain cheeks and staring into the greyed eyes that be left utterly soulless, staring blankly up at nothing.

“John, t’is only a dream, my dear. Wake up!”

John blinks and shoots up, gasping for breath and clawing away the heavy duvet. The room be dark, one lone candle lit upon the far night table beside—

“Alex,” John sobs gratefully, lunging towards his lover with such tenderness and clings to him like a lifeline in the sea of his grief.

“Shh, I’m here with you,” Alexander whispers soothingly as he rubs gentle circles into John’s back. His nightshirt clings to his sweat-coated skin and his hair has gone askew, sticking to his forehead in odd places and tangling behind his back. “You’re safe, now.”

“I couldn’t save him,” John sobs into Alexander’s shoulder, hiccuping between his breaths.

“There was nothing you could do, John,” Alexander replies patiently. “You were young. You did the best you could.”

“I was responsible for him,” John shudders violently. “My father will resent me if he discovers this.”

Alexander closes his eyes and tugs John a little closer, rocking him back and forth. “Stay with me, John. Do not drift away, my dear. Repeat after me; It be seventeen-hundred and eighty-two.”

“But my father—”

“Repeat after me, John,” Hamilton interjects in a soft tone.

John’s breath wobbles and he nods. “It be seventeen-hundred and eighty-two.”

“Good, now; I am in New York City,” Hamilton says firmly.

“I am in New York Ci-City,” John garbles sleepily, his eyes drooping as Alexander sways him peacefully. His heartbeat simmers and his tears stop.

“Good, that is good my dear Demosthenes,” Alexander coos sweetly, to which John snorts amusedly.

* * *

John awakens far past sunrise and becomes further surprised when he discovers the other half of the bed to be vacant. He instantly gains a whiff of something cooking downstairs and smiles endearingly to himself.

He dresses swiftly and rushes down the stairs, ready to—

_SMACK!_

John rubs his head grouchily and ducks to further retreat down the steps. He grumbles upon entering the kitchen and Alexander smiles knowingly at the tall honey-haired man tenderly rubbing his forehead.

“Happy birthday, my dear,” Hamilton declares with great enthusiasm. John only responds with a grunt as he sits at the small kitchen table, grabbing the Rivington’s Gazette laying upon the table, the date on the front reading: **Monday, October 28th, 1782**. “You are one year older and _apparently_ one inch taller,” Alexander quips cheekily as he places John’s breakfast in front of him.

John flickers his gaze above the paper to squint glaringly at Alexander who only chuckles lightly in response and places a mug of coffee in front of John. He looks back to the paper and absently picks up the mug to take a minuscule sip to test the temperature.

“You are twenty-eight today, correct?” Alexander says conversationally as he sits beside John at the table with his own plate and mug.

“Aye,” John affirms stiffly, keeping his eyes on the paper.

“ ‘Ave you received any letters from your siblings or your father?” Hamilton inquires innocently enough, his native accent narrowly slipping into his speech as he drowsily reaches for his mug of black coffee.

“I had received a letter from my Uncle James this week previous, wishing me well for my upcoming birthday,” John mumbles in response. "My father mainly asked how my studies were going and mentioned my birthday in a footnote, only to remind me that I am his eldest son and that I have responsibilities to upkeep our good family name."

Alexander nods carefully, squinting at his mug as he places it down upon the table. “What of your wife?” he says quietly, barely over his breath. “Has she writ anything to you since—”

John sighs and places the newspaper down, disturbing the plates and cutlery with a shuddering clang that causes Alexander to twitch within his seat. “Let us not discuss this,” he grits through his teeth. “We must complete our meals and continue our studies for the day.” John punctuates the end of the conversation by grabbing a slice of Mrs. Rosmund's infamous herb bread upon his plate and begins to eat.

John does not wish to give Alexander the silent treatment, but his lingering embarrassment from the night previous whence he had awoken from such a terrible nightmare has drained him. Somewhere in the crevices of his mind’s eye, a recurring dream has told him time and time again of his untimely demise. He feels as if he is overstaying his welcome on this planet and should never have been able to arrive at this age on this day. His muscles be sore with years of strain and his heart lies with the man by his side; he is to only study with Alexander until he inevitably has to face reality and his family tucked away across the sea.

“I do not mean to sour our good fortune with this limited time we have together, John, but the lack of correspondence only worries me so—”

“Why shall it worry you?” John hisses, banging his fist by his plate. He flinches away as coffee spills on his skin.

Alexander furrows his brows. “As much as I so desire for you to stay with me forever, my dear, I also must worry about your family since they be a part of you.”

“They are not,” John replies with despondency before resuming his meal.

Alexander huffs angrily. “That little girl is your child, John, whether you like it or not.” John looks over at Alexander wearily as his voice rises in volume. “You shall not abandon her and her mother! Do not condemn them to such a cruel fate!”

John swallows painfully as realization dawns upon him. “My dear boy, I apologize. I had not realized you—”

“Oh, piss off!” Alexander yells furiously, tossing his cloth on the table and standing up abruptly, the chair scraping abrasively across the floor. “Do not make this about me you _inconsiderate bastard!_ Write to your family, dammit!” Alexander grabs his food and mug and slams the kitchen door on his way out.

Akin to a fragile glass, the façade of their life is now shattered. John sighs in resignation; _how could he allow himself to fall into Hamilton’s web of fantasies yet again?_ He was aware that this be temporary, but when he had arrived in New York, Hamilton made him feel as if he were to stay forever.

As the river may flow, so does their life. America may be free, but John Laurens will forever be trapped in the constantly flowing stream, his happiness always to be out of reach. He aggressively tears the bread apart with his teeth. “ _Happy birthday to me.”_

* * *

After his meal is complete and dishes have been cleaned, John cautiously enters their study, staring longingly at Alexander who writes furiously at his desk, his food untouched.

"I apologize, Alexander."

Hamilton scoffs, his gaze unmoving from the parchment he be scrawling upon. "I am not the one you should be apologizing to." He dips the quill into the inkpot. "How long has it been since you have written to your wife?"

John sighs, leaning against the doorframe. "I cannot recall for certain. Perhaps five or six months?"

Alexander stops writing and his eye twitches as he glares at the parchment, fuming with growing rage. "Why have you waited so long?"

John sighs and marches to his desk. "I can write to her now if you so desire—"

"That be not the point of the matter, John!" Hamilton snaps, harshly dropping the quill into its placeholder. He rubs his face tiredly, sighing in defeat. "I had only assumed you were in continuous contact with her. Do you have any inclination of when she will return to you? Is she even _set_ to return to you anytime soon?"

John chews the inside of his cheek with indignation. "Last I had writ, I had informed her that I planned on completing my studies with you in New York, just as we had previously discussed, and wished to meet with her when I finished. She had not written back since."

Alexander raises a curious brow. "She has not?" Alexander looks perplexed. "John, when was the last you heard from her at all?"

John squints and feels his insides grow cold as he considers this. He struggles to recall the contents of her last letter, and when he does remember, it does not soothe his icy nerves. "I believe I have not heard from her in a year, now. Perhaps her correspondence could have been lost in travels?"

They stare silently at each other and startle painfully as a knocking upon their front door interrupts their heated conversation. Alexander waves at John to sit down and retreats from the study, leaving John to worry his bottom lip between his teeth as he considers how truly strange it is that he had not heard from Martha in a year. The sweltering knot inside his chest grows; his guilt is beginning to truly eat away at him.

He had been so focused on his black plan and peacefully closing off the war — he has not even mentioned to Alexander that his resignation was false in that he was actually _honourably discharged_ for—

"T'was Mrs. Rosmund. A letter for you had been put into her mailbox again," Hamilton announces as he re-enters the study with the object in question gripped in his hand. "It appears to be from your sister. Perhaps she had timed her letter perfectly to reach you nearer to your birthday."

John stands and gratefully accepts the letter and opens it with the small knife laying upon his desk. He unfolds it and smiles because: _yes, this be Patsy's handwriting!_ John's eyes eagerly scroll effortlessly through the words upon the page, but as he reads further on, his smile all but fades into oblivion.

Alexander takes notice of John's stature and hurries to his side when John all but collapses into his chair, his eyes wide and his trembling hand wearily covering his mouth.

"What is it?"

John says nothing, only hands the letter to Alexander, his eyes unmoving as they begin to grow glossy with unshed tears. Hamilton accepts the letter with great hesitance and begins to read aloud.

"My dear brother, as you had not replied to my past correspondence from June, March — or December of last year — I am inclined to believe they had gone missing upon travels as I hear the ships going between America and Britain has had many issues this past year with the end of the war. I apologize that if you had not received the news previously, that this letter may not be rather merry for you to receive on or near your twenty-eight birthday..."

Alexander flickers his gaze to John momentarily to see he has completely covered his face now. He reads on. "Sarah Manning Vaughn, your beloved sister-in-law, has been kind to keep a close eye on Frances as you continued to fight the good fight for America. We had received your letter to Martha and decided it would be best now that since you no longer be a soldier in war, for me to sail the sea with your beloved daughter. We have spoken very highly of you to her and she greatly looks forward to finally meeting you…"

Alexander nearly falls over as he reads the next sentence. "She has been quite forlorn since this past November when your love, Martha, had passed away — she had lost her last breathe at Lisle in France.”

Alexander trembles, holding the parchment with two shaking hands as he continues. “Mr. Vaughn had writ to Mr. Franklin last November that ‘ _the effects she left are few & trifling, but the magistrates of the place still refuse hitherto to suffer the operation of her will, till the Cols. pleasure is known.’_ This be why we so inclined to believe you had not received our letters since post-mortem, perhaps a miscarried letter upon the ships or fallen into mud towards your headquarters. We hope that uniting you and your daughter will brighten your spirits, even if our poor Martha has been taken from us far too soon…" Alexander looks up again to see John crying softly into his hands, his shoulders trembling and his sniffles be deafening in this room. "Dear God."

John looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and his lightly freckled cheeks tear-stained. "I am vile."

Alexander's breath hitches. "How so? This is the first you are hearing of this."

John stares into Alexander's eyes and nearly retches his breakfast at the prospect of what he had done. "I had ruined her, forced her into a loveless marriage, and longed for her to simply _disappear_ so that I may live on with" — _you._ John shakes his head. "She's been gone since last November, Alexander, and I had not known! I am a terrible husband and a vile man who is nothing but a sinner!"

Alexander stares at the letter for a moment before simply saying, "this was sent months ago. She states that she and your daughter are to board the next available ship to New York. They may already be on their way over here as we speak, John."

Laurens thinks of a willow tree and of a small boy he had been responsible for and failed simply because he had been distracted — _by a man._ John rushes out of the room as his breakfast truly begins to rise from his stomach at the thought of his six-year-old daughter being sent his way to raise _all by himself_ — _whilst he had been living with another man!_

He lurches out the back window in the cleaning room, shivering and sweating as his nerves spark like a flame, licking his insides and burning him alive with nothing but fear and melancholy. John shivers again when a warm hand presses onto his back, rubbing up and down soothingly as he spits out the remaining acid from his stomach. He painfully grips the windowsill and stares at the willow tree as nearly every single leaf has fallen by now.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" John whispers hoarsely.

"I know not, John," Alexander replies soothingly. "But we will figure this out" —Hamilton turns John's face so their eyes may interlock— " _together_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot to say this in my first chapter, but I wanna give a special shoutout to my friends on the amrev discord server for helping me with my terrible French and digging up history documents. Y'all are literal life-savers and I cherish you. (A few specific shoutouts include: @clear_as_starlight, @queerrevolution1776, and @fightinglaffy. Go follow them on Tumblr, please.)
> 
> We actually do not know when Martha Manning Laurens died for sure, but we know it was at some point after John was in France since she and Frances went there to meet with him and then she had died a bit later, late 1781. We don't know "how" or "when" she died precisely so I am going with "some sad illness in November got her." [Thank you @clear_as_starlight for helping me figure out more details on her death!]
> 
> And uhh, a bit of suspension of disbelief might be required here. There is a chance John could have known of her death before he died in real life, but shh, this is drama - and far too many letters got lost in transit back then so I gues it isn't *too* far-fetched... Let's just go with it ;p
> 
> Next chapter will come out whenever I feel like it. Might be in a few days. Might be a week. Who knows. But it *will* come, I can promise that at least :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! How many days has it been since the last update? 4? Who knows. Will the uploads be consistent? Heck no xD
> 
> Thank you for all the wonderful comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc!
> 
> Content Warning for chapter:  
> This chapter contains a scene with non-descript ~steamy~ intimacy. (It basically "fades to black".)

John knows not how to raise a child and he knows not how to grieve for a lost friend who had passed a year prior without his knowledge. His comfortable routine be shattered now as he barely manages to get by.

Martha had passed away in _France_ not long after _John_ had been there. _Had she only traveled there to see him? Is this entirely his fault?_

Laurens sits upon the sofa in the parlour — the only thing he can do these past few days — and stares out the bay window with a glassy-stare, devoid of any longing for the future. He is distantly aware that his mind only be clouded with grief and melancholy after losing someone so dear to him, even if he had not loved her the way he wished he could.

 _Does Frances even know what colour his eyes are?_ He wonders absently if she appears more like her mother...or like _him._ She only be six, turning seven in January — the precise day he knows not yet — and he has no image of her. John dry-heaves, nearly losing his constitution upon the thought that he will not recognize _his own child_ when she comes.

"My dear, there is a letter addressed to us both," Hamilton mumbles, startling John from his lost trance.

"Oh?"

Hamilton tosses it onto John's lap as he paces by, crossing his arms behind his back as he approaches the window. John raises a curious brow and picks up the parchment. He watches Alexander's hands twitch and fidget behind his back and frowns in concern. _What could he be nervous about?_

"We have both been called upon to be delegates in the Continental Congress," Alexander states rather solemnly. “It appears that our essays we’ve collaborated on advocating the replacement of the Articles of Confederation with a strong Federal Government have paid off and they wish for us to join the next term.”

"You seem...upset about this?" John replies delicately.

Alexander sighs, his shoulders visibly slumping with his motion. "I must admit that I would have been excited to see this news a week prior."

 _Before John's birthday;_ John laments this silently.

John places the parchment on the coffee table. "You should go on with this. I mind not turning it down, for I've no desire for such a position, anyway."

Alexander turns his head sharply to glare at John. "You will accept this position, John. We are only but a few days from receiving our law degrees. You knew I wanted us to do this — to continue fighting the good fight for our cause."

"I haven't the capabilities as I have before. I could pay my end by opening a law—"

"Enough," Hamilton interrupts. "You may grieve as long as you must, but you _will_ do this with me."

Laurens swallows. "What of my sister and daughter? They shall be arriving any day now."

Hamilton shrugs. "And? Why should that hinder your career? There are multiple men in congress with children. Some have been widowed and perhaps even remarried as well." Alexander saunters towards John and kneels in front of him, placing his hand on his knee. Laurens instantly folds his hand over Hamilton's tenderly. "I know our plans have shifted but we cannot let that stop us. We must keep going onwards. Even if you are close to drowning, John, you must keep swimming."

John nods slowly, caressing Alexander's cheek with his left hand and firmly gripping Hamilton's hand with his right one. His calloused fingers brush along Alexander's smooth face and dried hand. Hamilton smiles with such deep fondness, turning his face to press his lips onto John's palm.

John's body ignites like a sparking flame and he subconsciously sighs in content. Alexander turns his head again after placing a few kisses upon his palm and keeps his expression warm. "I love you more than anything, you know."

John flushes and smiles endearingly. "Aye, as do I."

Alexander suddenly pulls his hand from John's and tucks it into his inner waistcoat pocket, grinning like a small boy in a toy store. "I, ahh, have something I wish to tell you. Please do not interrupt, I just" —he skittishly tucks a loose curl behind his ear— "I've wanted to say this for so long but you were quite pre-disposed with…" Hamilton sighs and pulls out his closed fist, holding it in front of John and uncurling his fingers to reveal—

"A ring?" John questions with a lifted brow. "What—"

"John, I love you." Hamilton visibly swallows, his forehead shimmering as he begins to sweat. "My dearest, John, I have loved you for many years now — you had stolen into my affections and I would rather you keep them because I be hopelessly devoted to you."

John blinks as the scene before him starts to register in his brain at the pace of a carriage trapped in the mud. "Alexander…"

"Please, allow me to finish," he interrupts again, his voice wobbling with trepidation. "I mean no ill will to Martha as I am sure she was a good girl, but I must admit that I was...thrilled when I had read that letter."

John scoffs incredulously but Alexander continues. "I know it be cruel of me, but I had been willing to give it all up for you, however, it pained me to know you were already devoted to another by law."

John opens his mouth to intercept, to correct Alexander, but thinks better of it and snaps his mouth shut with his teeth clattering together. "I know the woman traditionally wears a ring — and this also not be legal — but I love you with all my heart and this ring represents my complete and utter devotion to you. John Laurens, will you do me the honour of marrying me? In spirit, that is?"

Laurens cannot breathe. He opens his mouth to reply but finds the words to be stuck upon his frozen tongue. His vision blurs with oncoming tears and he wordlessly nods. Alexander sighs in relief and carefully pushes the ring onto John's finger beside his right pinky. He stares at it in awe before capturing Alexander's lips with his own.

John stands slowly, pulling Hamilton up with him, and keeping his lips on his lover's skin. "Oui, oui, Alexander. A thousand times over — _yes_ ," he whispers into Alexander's lips.

Alexander smiles giddily and holds John’s right hand, bringing it to his lips to press a tender kiss upon the ring. "Damn laws to Hell. I take thee, John Laurens, to have and to hold, for richer or poor, in sickness and in health, till death do us part, so help me god."

John bursts into a strange laughter that sounds awfully akin to a sob as he embraces Hamilton. "And I take thee, Alexander Hamilton, to have and to hold, for richer or poor, in sickness and in health, till death do us part, so help me god." John punctuates his eloped vows with a searing kiss, feeling his soul sing.

As they part from their embrace, Hamilton lifts a suggestive brow at John, looking up at him through his lashes. “My dear, shall we consummate our marriage?”

Despite himself, Laurens flushes deeply. He allows his passions to capture his soul and drown the grief and worries if only for a short while. He basks in Hamilton’s charm and follows him up the staircase with a wide grin. He leans in to press a kiss behind Hamilton’s ear, holding his hand on the railing as they ascend the steps eagerly. Just as he lifts his head away, Alexander catches it in time before he may smack it against the low beam.

“I would not wish for you to injure yourself, my love,” Alexander says in a sultry tone, causing John to rumble with giggles.

“Go on then,” John whispers, nudging Alexander forward so he may raise his head properly. “I would greatly prefer if we would move faster.”

“Oh, you’re rather impatient.” Alexander chuckles lightly as he saunters around the railing and walks backwards towards their bedroom door. The windowed doors at the end of the hallway leading to the front upstairs balcony haloes Hamilton's silhouette with an ethereal glow. “I think I will take my sweet, leisurely time with you, mon cher.”

John pushes any lingering melancholic thoughts outside the door as he captures Alexander in his arms. Laurens pushes him into their room, slamming the door shut with his foot, and pinning him to it and nipping at his neck eagerly. “We will have to see who bears champion, mon amour…” Laurens growls as he begins removing Hamilton’s cravat. Alexander chuckles, holding onto John and settling his head against the door.

They drown in each other's passions by navigating the windward passage before laying together in blissful tranquillity. Their fingers explore each other’s skin as they adoringly gaze into each other’s eyes. The setting sun leaves their room in a tranquil orange glow, the shadows upon their faces accentuating their sharp edges and glistening sweat. Alexander tenderly holds onto John as if he be a lifeline, keeping him from drifting away into the stormy seas.

They do not speak as they lie together, only listening to their laboured breathing calming down from their exhilarating high. John frowns as the silence begins to loom over him, allowing his melancholy to sneak into the forefront of his mind again. He curls over and lays his head upon Alexander's chest, tracing patterns upon his skin with his index finger and staring at the ring as a way to distract his wandering thoughts from ruining this moment.

"I can hear you thinking," Hamilton mutters drearily.

John snorts amusedly but does not respond, continuing with his patterns, looping his fingers through Hamilton's curly chest hair. Alexander gently holds his wrist, causing the motions to halt. "Have I made an error with my judgement?" his voice be meek as he speaks.

"However do you mean?" John lifts his head now to look down into Alexander's eyes.

"Was this a mistake?" Alexander whispers with trepidation.

John lifts a brow. "Us?"

Alexander shrugs and looks away. "I fear you only accepted my proclamation because…"

"... _because?"_ John adds slowly, urging for an answer.

"...because" —he shivers with a sharp intake of breath— "I had taken advantage of your vulnerability whilst you were grieving _her_ passing."

John leans down and tilts Alexander's chin so that they be facing each other. "I carry no doubts on my affections for you, Alexander. I would always say yes to spending my life with you." He pauses and chews his bottom lip in contemplation. "Unless _you_ were having doubts—"

"Of course not!" Hamilton intercepts sharply. "I would not have saved up for that ring if I had doubts!"

John stares at the object in question. "How much did you—"

"For you, my love, everything is priceless," Alexander replies delicately.

John frowns. "Alexander, if you spent—"

"Stop this," Hamilton snaps heatedly. "Please. Can we not just lay here?"

John sits up entirely now, leaning against the headboard of the bed. "You were the one who brought up this discussion."

Alexander huffs indignantly. "You were drifting away. I was only worried you were regretting all of this."

John gesticulates to the room around them that slowly darkens with the setting sun. "Look around us. I have been by your side for five years. I moved in with you. Why the hell should I have any doubts now?"

"Because your daughter is coming here any day now!" Laurens stares in shock at Hamilton's outburst; Hamilton scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Oh don't act so surprised. I have seen you sulking for many days since receiving that letter. You've gone cold and distant, lost in your own mind. You want to leave so you can do what's best for her."

John shakes his head. "Alexander, you forget yourself."

"Are we doomed to be hopeless?" Hamilton murmurs in defeat. "You always go off somewhere in your mind when something goes astray — as if the world is about to implode on itself."

John exhales deeply through his nose, casting his gaze away to cool his growing temper. "What is this? Why propose to me when you have fears of my child getting in the way?"

"I never said that—"

"You didn't have to," John bites back. "Were you hoping I would abandon her?"

Alexander's frown melts into a scowl. "You are a goddamned fool, Jack." He crawls over John and kneels over his lap, causing the other man to blink in bewilderment. "I wish for you _and_ your daughter to stay with me. She is a part of you and I will cherish everything that comes with _you_." Hamilton sighs as he loops his arms around John's neck. "My only fears were of you leaving. Perhaps the proposal only a week after you had discovered Martha's passing was in poor taste, but I meant every word. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. My sentiments have never been a secret to you."

John bursts into an enamoured grin. He holds Alexander's lower back and pulls him in for a chaste kiss. Hamilton sighs dreamily, lacing his fingers through John's hair to tenderly massage his scalp. Laurens breaks the kiss and raises a brow at his lover; nay, his _husband._ "You truly mean this?"

"Aye," Hamilton replies. "She can sleep in the room down the hallway. We have plenty of space."

"This will not be easy, Alexander. This is a child we speak of. A nearly seven-year-old girl who will need constant attention," John elucidates carefully.

Alexander tilts his head with a sheepish grin. "There are two of us and one of her. How hard could this possibly be?"

* * *

John's fingers tremble as he fumbles with the buttons on his silver waistcoat. They had received a notice of Patsy and Frances' arrival in New York. She was kind enough to send a messenger boy last evening to notify John and Alexander of their arrival in New York and that she and Frances will come to their home the next morn.

Now it be the morning of their impending arrival and John cannot close these damn buttons on his waistcoat.

"Relax, my dear," Hamilton coos gently as he swiftly takes control of the button situation. John immediately submits to him and puffs out through his nose as his arms helplessly flop to his sides in defeat. "You mustn't _inquiéter beaucoup_ on your appearance, John. You are as _dashingly handsome_ as ever."

John rolls his eyes, unable to hide the tiniest smile slipping past his mask of irritation. "You charm me, sir."

"Do I?" Alexander smoothes the waistcoat down and steps back to look at his handiwork. "I only speak the truth, _monsieur Laurens._ "

John turns to grab his coat and puts it on with ease. He raises a taunt brow at Alexander as he pulls the ruffles of his sleeves out of the coat cuffs. "Ah, oui. Tu chantes seulement de telles éloges pour que je joue de ta cornemuse, _monsieur Hamilton."_

Alexander's freckled complexion darkens into a deep shade of crimson and he clears his throat hastily as it appears to have gone dry. John smirks deviously and completes his task of fixing his ruffled sleeves as if he had not said such provocative things.

Alexander nervously wipes invisible dust from his coat and avoids John's gaze. He sighs deeply and looks up at Laurens sweetly. "Come, let us eat before they arrive."

John makes a face of discomfort at the prospect. "Nay, sir. I do not believe I can hold anything down. My stomach feels as if it be bursting at the seams."

Alexander rests his hands on his trembling shoulders and John sighs in relief, not realizing he had been shaking until his dear boy holds him so tenderly. "I am certain she will absolutely adore you, John. There is nothing to worry about—"

A light knocking from the front door startles them and John begins panting nervously. "Breathe, my dear," Hamilton soothes. "I will answer the door. You follow at your own pace." He pulls John's hands to his lips and kisses them sweetly. "I am with you. You are not alone. Remember this."

This be the very reason why John is terrified but forces a smile and nod at Hamilton's attempt at calming his nerves. He watches Hamilton leave and checks his pocket watch. _Nine-forty-three in the morning,_ it reads.

Laurens startles at the sound of the front door opening. He hears Hamilton’s voice ring up the stairs as he says, “hello,” in a kindly manner.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Hamilton," Patsy says politely.

Laurens nervously retreats from the bedroom and makes his languid descent upon the stairwell, chewing his lip as his heart beats heavily in his chest. He sees Hamilton's feet and two skirts outside of the door; he pauses before the low hanging beam.

"Enchanté," Hamilton replies, charming as ever. John hears him kiss her hand. "And you must be little miss Frances Laurens."

"It be a pleasure to meet you, sir," a youthful feminine voice replies with performed politeness. John nearly collapses down the stairs at the sound of her voice; so soft and gentle like a small bell, and yet her tone has a slight rasp to it, as if coarse from years of use. _She sounds almost like Alexander—_

"The pleasure is all mine, petite fleur," Hamilton replies smoothly. Frances giggles softly before clearing her throat. John swiftly ducks his head below the wood beam to finish his descent.

He freezes upon reaching the bottom step when Frances gasps, her crystal blue eyes locking onto his own and he somehow _knows_ she be his daughter. John feels a wave of nausea and something else — something rather inherently pleasant that he cannot place — but feels gravity pulling him off of the staircase and he automatically approaches her, his eyes unmoving from her small frame.

They all stand in silence as John examines her; her hair is curlier than Alexander's, cascading in shiny gold ringlets and pooling over her shoulders. Her face be pale like his own and her nose be dusted with freckles like himself. She looks so very much like John that he nearly chokes on a sob fighting its way to the back of his throat. Her arched brow and pursed lips reminds him plainly of her mother, full of intelligence and wit and John could weep at how utterly _terrifying_ this small girl appears to be. She does not appear to be happy to see him; in fact, she looks quizzical, as if to say, _‘really? This is it?’_

"Father?" She inquires with a small voice, filled with a forlorn longing and that rasp that reminds him shockingly of Alexander’s tone.

"Aye," John replies hoarsely, clearing his throat awkwardly as it gravels deeply. "My god, have you grown."

Frances shyly glances up at Patsy who smiles encouragingly at her. She reaches into her skirt pocket and pulls out a locket with a gold chain, inspecting its contents closely whilst chewing her bottom lip in deep concentration before looking back at John. He cannot resist the pained expression controlling his features as she studies him and whatever is in the locket.

"This painting of you is really quite bad," she declares with a set tone.

John explodes into a confounded fit of boisterous laughter.

Alexander is also pleasantly amused, chuckling brightly. "Aye, let me guess, that be a miniature Peale had made?"

John rolls his eyes fondly and then shakes his head. "Well, what else were I to do? I was not going to paint myself!"

"You could have done better," Hamilton replies seriously and John scoffs, attempting to hide his flush.

He turns to Patsy and she immediately smiles, all teeth on display, and her arms already outstretched for an embrace. "Patsy, how I missed you so," John mumbles into her shoulder and she nearly tumbles him over in her abrasively lovable hug.

"It's been far too long, Jack," she mumbles into his chest before sighing with content.

They part ways and Hamilton immediately invites them inside since the draft be giving them a chill. They leave their luggage by the front door as John placidly smiles, giving a rather bland tour of the home with Hamilton trailing behind, silently smiling with a deep fondness that John has never quite seen in his eyes until now.

As they approach the second level, John ducking his head as they ascend the stairs, Patsy immediately furrows her brows at the doors. "Oh dear, it seems there only be three rooms."

John lifts a bewildered brow as he wonders how that could possibly be an issue when — _oh no._

"You can take my room," John says quickly, his eyes flaring panically towards Alexander. "I can sleep on the sofa until we figure it out." _Why did he not consider that his sister would be staying with them after their arrival?_

"I've already emptied the drawers for you, Miss Laurens," Hamilton steps in, swift as ever with his silver tongue. "I had spare drawers in my own room that I do not mind sharing with our dear John."

"Are you certain this be alright?" Patsy questions with an arched brow. "I do not intend to impose upon your—"

"All is well. I will have to figure out my sleeping arrangements within the following days as I had forgotten how many rooms we had available," John replies quickly, his eyes nervously flitting towards Alexander.

Frances nervously tugs on Patsy's skirts and she turns to face the small child. "Aunt Patsy, are we living here?"

Patsy looks towards John and he slowly kneels down to face his daughter eye-to-eye. "Yes, you will be staying with me from now on. If that is alright?"

She flickers her gaze to Hamilton and back to John. Her hands bundle up tightly in her skirts; clearly a nervous habit. "Will Mr. Hamilton be staying as well?"

John never considered that she would be weary around him but he supposes he was a fool to not consider this. He and Alexander are strangers to her, after all. "Aye, this be his home. He was kind enough to let us stay with him for now."

She nods carefully and then turns quickly, entering the first bedroom by the stairs. "Can this be my room?" She asks brightly and John chuckles fondly as he stands up again.

"Of course," Hamilton replies earnestly. "I'll retrieve your luggage. John, you can show your sister to your room," he adds before descending the stairs.

John walks into the only other room on this floor with pantomimical purpose, as if he had done this many times before; his jaw strains as he forces a smile. He had never entered the other two rooms before today which sounds insane to him as the thought crosses his mind. He was narrowly aware of the back balcony but never appreciated the sheer beauty of it until entering the room. It sports a deep crimson wallpaper and a wood-framed bed for two with sheer drapes hanging around the perimeter — much like the bed in his and Alexander's room — and pale blue linens.

"Oh, there be a balcony in the back as well?" Patsy gapes in awe. "I thought there was only one at the front of the home?" She opens the double doors — matching to the ones at the end of the upstairs hallway by his and Alexander's room — and the two explore the wide balcony that loops around the back of the home.

They find Frances at the very end and John stares in awe at the doors leading to her room. He feels rather sheepish for not appreciating this grand outdoor space until now.

"Aunt Patsy, look at that tree!" Frances points eagerly at the large willow in the back garden. "Much like the one I would climb back home — I mean," she coughs, "in London."

John feels gravity pull his entire bodily organs down the two stories they are on and he swiftly steps forward to place a protective hand on her shoulder. "You must stay away from it, Frances. Do you understand me?"

She shyly looks up at him, her excitement all but vanishing as she nods solemnly. "Yes, sir."

He wearily looks down over the railing and ushers her towards her room. "In fact, you shall never stand on this balcony without any of us present. Do you understand?"

Patsy's face contorts into an unreadable expression as Frances crumbles miserably. "Yes, sir."

John sighs as they enter Frances' room; the bed with a state-of-the-art metal frame far too large for her small stature, however, the bright yellow wallpaper seems to suit her youthful glow. He kneels in front of her and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You do not need to call me sir."

"Yes" —she bites her lip and catches herself— " _father._ "

John feels sufficiently awkward as she looks up at him with weariness. _This was a mistake. How could he possibly be responsible for—_

"John, may I have a word?" Patsy interrupts his wandering thoughts and he nods curtly. He proffers a strange smile to Frances and she returns the same uncomfortable lifting of lips before turning around to rummage through her suitcase. Her presence be cold and sharp and all he can feel is guilt and remorse.

John hastily follows Patsy out of the room, carefully closing the door, and they bump into Alexander as he exits the bedroom now belonging to Patsy — most likely having dropped off her luggage.

"You need to relax, Jack. She is not a fragile piece of porcelain." Patsy whispers harshly, not caring Alexander stands beside them with wide eyes.

"Have you been allowing her to just climb any tall object nearby this entire time?" John snips back with furrowed brows.

Patsy rolls her eyes. "You clearly do not know anything about your daughter."

"You are correct," John mumbles miserably. "I don't. I've only met her today."

"And I am telling you that you are giving a terrible impression," Patsy growls furiously.

"She is _my_ daughter, Patsy," John snaps. "If I tell her not to do something, I have every right to do so. Do I make myself clear?"

Patsy straightens her posture, her jaw clenched and tense with a twitching muscle — much like what happens to John when he does the same thing. "Crystal," she mutters. “You’re right. She requires discipline and you can provide that for her.” John’s features twist uneasily and she turns towards her bedroom. "I'll be unpacking my belongings whilst you figure out your disorganized sleeping arrangements, brother,” she adds with a devious smirk. John flushes as the door closes in his face.

Alexander and John stare at the door for a moment before the copper-haired man turns to John with a sheepish expression. "Well, your family seems wonderful. They're all just as stubborn as you."

John rolls his eyes and begins marching down the stairs. "Watch yourself, Alex—"

_SMACK!_

"Christ!" John yells, rubbing his head. He slaps the wood beam furiously and ducks under it before continuing his descent, too embarrassed to complete his thought. He hears three distinct chuckles ringing from upstairs and feels his anger simmer into utter fondness over the youthful giggles, in particular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot thickens...
> 
> Poor John has a long way to go as a father. oof.
> 
> I had a lot of fun sprinkling 18th-century innuendos in here. I hope y'all find them just as amusing as I do ;P
> 
> Thank you to @fightinglaffy (on ao3, @Blue_Clover) for tolerating my terrible French.  
> Special shoutout again to my pals on our amrev discord server. Y'all are wonderful people!
> 
>  **French Translations:**  
>  "inquiéter beaucoup = "worry so much"  
> "Ah, oui. Tu chantes seulement de telles éloges pour que je joue de ta cornemuse, monsieur Hamilton." = "Ah, yes. You only sing such praises so that I play your bagpipe, mister Hamilton."  
> “petite fleur” = “little flower”


End file.
